


Prior Arrangements

by PoisonMistress



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Mycroft's Meddling, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonMistress/pseuds/PoisonMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finally gets himself engaged, but unfortunately for him the Holmes brothers have other plans, and those involve him staying with Sherlock, and falling in love with him. Eventual John/Sherlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I wrote up on FF.net and now I've finally got an invite for this place, I shall be posting it up. One chapter a week (at least) Or you could search for my username of FF

John Watson walked along the street, slowing his steps as he got closer to 221B. If he was honest, he was dreading going back home now. He had no idea how Sherlock was going to react.

Being the worlds only consulting detective, John thought that Sherlock would have deduced what was going on long ago. But he seemed strangely blind to everything concerning _her._

_Her_  being his fiancée, as of that morning when he'd proposed.

He'd been seeing Juliet for over a year, and everything thing seemed perfect. She was lovely. Sweet, kind, funny, smart by his standards. But his heart wasn't filled to the brim with joy at the idea of spending the rest of his life with her. Yes, he was happy. But there were a few little niggling thoughts. Each and every one of them involving Sherlock.

What would Sherlock do without his only friend? Who would get him to eat, and clean up his experiments, and defend his honour? Yes, he'd managed before. But Sherlock barely ever eluded to that time, and he always wore a look of extreme loneliness when he mentioned it. Like a man remembering a time spent on a deserted island.

He'd been totally alone. And now... He wouldn't be totally alone. Of course he'd still visit Sherlock. But he wouldn't have a constant companion any more. And John knew he wouldn't be able to spend his time solving crimes.

Juliet had been against it from the first, saying it was to dangerous. And anyway, he would have to spend time with his wife, not with Sherlock.

Sherlock had only met her once, about four months ago when they were getting serious. She'd insisted on going round to his place, saying she wanted to look round. She knew a little about Sherlock, but not a lot, he'd been careful not to talk continually about him. And it had been a complete disaster.

Sherlock had been conducting an experiment on some bones, which wasn't as bad as it could have been. They'd entered the flat, and he'd been sitting on the floor, crossed legged, wrapped in his dressing gown, looking almost ghost-like in the dim light.  
He had been muttering to himself, something about oxygen if John remembered correctly. 

And then, when he switched the light on, Sherlock had looked up, pausing mid sentence as he surveyed first John, and then Juliet. He seemed to freeze when his eyes landed on her, every muscle oozing hostility.

Then his beautiful grey eyes had flicked to John.

"Who is _that?_ " he'd demanded, drawing his lips into a sneer.

"Sherlock, this is Juliet, my girlfriend." he'd said carefully, glancing at the girl in question.

She looked a little taken aback, but smiled bravely all the same.

"Hello Sherlock. John talks about you a lot." she said, and John hoped he'd imagined the jealousy in her tone.

"John never talks about you." Sherlock had responded, ignoring John's sharp intake of breath.

Juliet glanced at him, though thankfully there was no reproach in her eyes. Sherlock looked between them, his brow furrowing for a second, before turning back to his bones.

"Tea, Juliet?" John asked, breaking the slightly uncomfortable silence.

"Oh, yes please. Is it okay if I sit down...?"

"Of course."

He'd hurried into the kitchen, and left the pair alone. Big mistake.

"Don't touch that." snapped Sherlock after barely five seconds.

"Sorry. What is it?" asked Juliet.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

"It's evidence for a case."

The case they were working on was tricky. John shouldn't have brought Juliet while he was working on it. But then, when Sherlock wasn't working on a case he was even worse. He'd brought the tea into the room, Sherlock tapping the bones together and frowning.

John smiled nervously at Juliet, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Sherlock broke it by picking up the handful of the smaller bones, and sniffing them carefully.

"You're working on a case, are you?" asked Juliet, though she didn't sound interested.

"Yes." Sherlock said sharply.

"John said you were some kind of amateur detective."

Sherlock raised his head, and glared coldly at her.

"Consulting detective." he said.

Then he looked at John, eyes expressing hurt John couldn't really understand.

Then his friend dropped the pile of the bones, and crouched down, examining them all carefully.

"Hah." he said softly, picking up the largest and twirling it through his fingers.

Juliet had rolled her eyes at John, which made him feel something close to anger, but not quite. Sherlock's work was serious. And she was coming in here, without invitation of his flatmate, and patronising his work.

"I've got it, John." Sherlock had said, leaping to his feet, and grabbing his coat of the back of the sofa.

He twirled round and watched John expectantly.

"Coming?"

Well... Uh..." John had stuttered.

Sherlock's face fell, before becoming the customary mask.

"Very well. Don't let her mess anything up." he'd snapped, voice cold as ice, and as sharp as glass.  
And then he'd gone.

The rest of the evening had been very uncomfortable. And he hadn't taken Juliet round since. And she hadn't asked to go.  
Sherlock had also made no further allusions to her, never commenting when John came home from a long night at her place. Probably the one reason Juliet had lasted to the final point was that she didn't seem to mind so much when John was called away by Sherlock.

She pleaded with him to stay, and told him Sherlock wasn't worth it, a comment which always hardened his resolve. But the next day, she'd forgive him with a small, sad smile.

And now they were engaged. And John knew he should be happy, but something to do with Sherlock was dampening it. Juliet had always let Sherlock take prime place, but once he was married, he knew that wouldn't be the case. Juliet disliked him. Had even called him worthless a few times. She was jealous of him, which was of course ridiculous.

He stood for several moments on the steps of 221b, before unlocking the door, and slowly walking inside. The harmonious droning of Sherlock's violin could just be heard. It was such a familiar, heart breaking sound. John listened to it for a moment, before slowly climbing the stairs up.

Sherlock was standing by the window, playing a slow tune. He stopped when John entered the room, but not turning round to face him.

"Did you eat?" asked John.

He would prefer it if Sherlock deduced everything he needed to, instead of being forced to tell him.

"No." drawled Sherlock, finally turning to face him.

His eyes skimmed over every detail, and a slight frown clouded his features. Then he seemed to shake himself, and fell into the sofa, stretching out. John stood watching him for a moment, before sitting down, still watching his friend.  
"Sherlock... I need to tell you something." he said uncomfortably.

Sherlock didn't remove his eyes from the ceiling, but a lazy wave of his hand told John to proceed.

"You remember Juliet."

And John swore he something flash in the detective's eyes.

"Boring, stupid woman." he said, no difference in his tone.

"Well, boring and stupid to you. But I've asked her to marry me."

Sherlock tensed, slowly turning his mist grey eyes on John.

"And she accepted."

Sherlock didn't move for several seconds, then he jumped to his feet, striding past John.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, also getting to his feet and running over to the detective.

"I'm going out. Forgot about an important meeting..." Sherlock said, voice sharp.

"You're going in your dressing gown?"

Sherlock barely glanced at himself, before storming through the door and slamming it shut behind him, leaving John alone and in silence.

\----

John made himself a cup of tea, and sat down. He hadn't really thought Sherlock would react quite so badly. Or maybe he had known, and just hoped he wouldn't. At any rate, it didn't look like his best friend would be returning for some time.

John wasn't really sure what Sherlock's problem was either. He didn't like sharing, but John was only his friend. He would still be his friend. Nothing would change that. So there had to be something else going on in that funny brain.

When Sherlock returned, he'd tell him exactly what was going to happen.

But an hour later, when Sherlock hadn't yet returned from his 'meeting', John was worried that maybe Sherlock was upset about something even bigger. He was considering going out to find the six foot detective, when his phone bleeped.

_Car waiting for you. M_

John sighed quietly. He should have guessed this would be happening. But of course he hadn't. He slowly got up, shrugged on his coat, and went downstairs. The door of the black car mystically opened, and he climbed wearily in, slamming it shut with more force than necessary, and causing even Anthea to look up.

They drove to their destination in complete silence, only when they stopped did Anthea look up.

"We're here." she said, before plunging back to her phone.

John got out, and walked slowly up to the tall figure of Mycroft. When Sherlock had stormed out, he hadn't thought his day could get any worse.

"What do you want?" he snapped, glaring at the older brother.

Mycroft tipped his head and surveyed him.

"We should sit. This will be a delicate conversation."

John snorted, but sat anyway, Mycroft taking the seat opposite him.

"Help yourself." he said, gesturing at a plate of small cakes.

John eyed them suspiciously, before taking one, and picking thoughtfully at the icing as he surveyed Mycroft.

"I asked what you wanted." he said finally.

"Oh yes. Now, I'm sure you're aware that my dear brother left the flat at one o'clock this afternoon, in great distress." said Mycroft primly, as though reading a news report.

"And in his dressing gown." John added, suppressing a smirk.

Mycroft raised a single eyebrow.

"Yes. And I'm also sure you're aware that you are the cause for both these things."

"I did tell him he was only wearing a-"

"You know what I mean." Mycroft interrupted.

Johns sighed, setting his half eaten cake down.

"Sherlock doesn't rule my life. It's my choice. And I'm afraid he'll have to get over it." said John.

Mycroft twirled his umbrella, and shook his head.

"Unfortunately not, my dear doctor."

"What? You can't rule my life. It's my choice."

"Yes. It's your choice. But let me explain your choices." said Mycroft.

John glared at him, leaning back in his chair, and watching the Holmes brother closely.

"You have been with you brother for a long time now. Two years I believe. And, rather unfortunately, you have penetrated his armour. He has professed you to be his only friend. The one he really cares for. And this means you cannot be parted from him."  
John opened his mouth to protest, but Mycroft held up a hand.

"When I first met you, I knew you would either make my brother worse, or better. You have made him better. You're good for him. You protect him. Keep him on the straight and narrow. You saved him from himself. And I fear that now, to rip that all away would destroy him."

"But, I'm not going to abandon him. I'll still see him." protested John.

"Sherlock doesn't share."

"He'll be fine on his own! He can look after himself."

Mycroft frowned.

"I personally believe not. Since he met you, I am almost certain he hasn't used _it_. And I am equally certain he will if you leave."

"That's blackmail! You can't make me stay with him." snapped John angrily.

He couldn't believe Mycroft. Sherlock was completely right about him. How dare he try and control his life, and Sherlock's. He made his own choices. They both did.

But the other reason he was angry, was because every word Mycroft said was true. And in his heart, he knew it.  
"But, I give you a choice John." said Mycroft placidly.

John narrowed his eyes and waited.

"You cut Miss Juliet out of your life, and stay with Sherlock. Or, you marry her, and several weeks later, an unfortunate accident occurs to her. A fatal accident." said Mycroft, as nonchalantly as if he were talking about the weather.

"W-what? You can't do that! It's my life. I won't have a bastard like you ruling it." snarled John, getting to his feet.

"Oh, but I gave you a choice. Stay with Sherlock, or be the cause of her death."

John curled his fists into balls as he looked the the older brother.

"You..."

"I am only doing what is best for Sherlock. He cares more about you than you know. And I believe you care more about him than you want to admit."

"He's my best friend. Nothing else."

"Indeed? You've noticed his blindness to what happens between you and Juliet. Because he's seeing what he doesn't want to see, so he ignores it and hopes it goes away. Do you want to see your friend return to drugs? The choice is yours, my good doctor. You have several days to decide." said Mycroft.

He rose elegantly, and strode away, leaving a speechless, angry, confused army doctor behind.


	2. Chapter Two

Sherlock walked quickly down the street, ignoring the stares of everybody who passed him. He couldn't care less what went on their pathetic, boring minds. Because John was leaving him.

He clenched his teeth together, to stop something. Not tears, obviously.

He felt so... angry and abandoned. How could John leave him for some woman? He'd known it would happen eventually. If he was honest, he'd known as soon as John had brought Juliet round. But he hadn't wanted to believe it.

And now he felt so foolish. He'd let John in, and in his own way, John had managed to hurt him. Not intentionally of course. John would never do that. But this woman, she had. Sherlock curled his fists into balls.

He walked for another five minutes, before admitting that the cold, and the stares were getting rather dull. But he couldn't go back home yet. He had to compose himself. Rebuild that armour John had broken.

He had few places other than home to go, so he headed to the yard, speeding up his steps slightly as the cold began to get really bitter. He was glad his momentary fear and anger hadn't stopped him putting some shoes on. He managed to slip past the people milling around in the main section, and sneak to Lestrade's office.

Sherlock supposed, as he picked the officers lock, that Lestrade was the next closest thing to a friend he had. He slipped into the familiar room, shutting the door, and padding over to a comfy chair, which he curled himself down in, resting his head on the arm.

His frozen body began to thaw out a bit, which allowed his brain to get working. John had asked a woman to marry him. That was bad, but perhaps steps could still be taken to get John back.

He certainly wasn't going to give in just like that. The woman would not win. Not in a million years. John was his and anybody who didn't understand that needed to learn.

He cursed himself for not doing something four months ago, when it was clear John was serious. It wouldn't have taken much at all. An arm round John's waist, or a snide comment, and she would be gone. But he hadn't wanted to consider her a threat.  
He knew never to make that mistake again. In fact, once this woman was gone, he had to find a way to ensure John never got together with another one.

But, he had to concentrate on the present. Removing Juliet from John's life.

He could think of a hundred ways to get her to leave him. But John wouldn't give up without a struggle. And Sherlock didn't want to hurt him to much. Which was strange, and slightly worrying, as he normally didn't care about that kind of thing.

Hopefully he would have a good nine months to sort things out before the wedding. He would find a way.

The one thing he was a little more concerned about was why he was so desperate to keep John. It was a matter he would he to consider in great detail at a later date. John was his only friend. He cared for him. But more data would have to be collected on the subject.  
And what did John see in the woman, Juliet? Why did he want to leave in the first place? Why was he not an adequate companion? All these questions buzzed round Sherlock's head.

Well, firstly, he supposed Juliet called be called pretty, in a pedestrian, boring way. And apart from the fact she was stealing John, she seemed alright. But she was the very picture of the word dull. She'd been engaged before, but her fiancée had cheated on her, and she'd split it. She worked in a bookshop, and jobs didn't much more boring than that.

The second question, why did John want to leave? They were friends. John meant a terrifying amount to him. And he'd always thought John felt the same. Obviously not. The only other explanation was that this woman had stolen John. Ensnared him in her evil web. Though she didn't look intelligent enough to plot so deviously.

And the last question... The trickiest, and the one that would require the most thought.

"What the bloody hell?" Lestrade demanded from the door.

Sherlock cursed himself for not hearing the door open, and turned his eyes languidly on Lestrade, who was flanked by Sally. She looked equal parts horrified, and like Christmas had come early.

"What are you doing freak?" she demanded, sniggering into her hand.

"I needed to think." Sherlock yawned, rolling himself into a sitting position and arranging his dressing gown over his knees.

"Sherlock! You can't just break into my office, in your dressing gown." Lestrade said angrily, though there no real venom in his voice.

He motioned for Sally to go, and watched the detective for a moment.

"What do you want?" he asked eventually.

"Nothing. I just got a bit cold. And I-I can't go home." said Sherlock, easily except for a stupid stutter.

"Row with John?" asked Lestrade, looking genuinely concerned.

"He did something which displeased me." said Sherlock coolly.

Lestrade nodded.

"Well. Stay here as long as you like." he said awkwardly.

"I will." said Sherlock, before curling back down again, and listening to the scratch of Lestrade's pen.

He should have known the silence wouldn't last long. First he was aware Lestrade had stopped writing, and then his gaze fixing itself on his head. He ignored him, hoping the inspector would loss interest. No such luck.

"Can you tell me what you fought about?" asked Lestrade gently.

Sherlock gritted his teeth. Torn. Tell Lestrade and face embarrassment, or lie.

He decided on a mix.

"John wants to go." he stated, trying not to sound so insecure about the matter.

"That bad, was it?"

"No. That's... Why I came here." said Sherlock, resolving not to say another thing on this delicate subject.

"Oh... Well, I really hope you change his mind." said Lestrade.

Sherlock was glad he didn't have to rebuff the inspector with a rude comment about his wife. Sally entered, her expression clearly stating she'd been eavesdropping. Sherlock glared coldly at her.

She dumped some files on Lestrade's desk, hesitated, then stalked out. Sherlock turned his mind back to his plan.

He hadn't been keeping track of time, so it came as a surprise when the clock on Lestrade's desk struck two.

He hadn't really got anywhere past 'split John up with that woman, and then make sure he stays with me'. Obviously, splitting him up would be the easy part. Keeping him however, wouldn't. He would somehow have to keep all women away from John. And if any formed a connection, he would have to break them up instantly, and painlessly for John.

He got up, Lestrade starting from his work when he saw the detective move.

"You off?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded, and not feeling the need to say anything else, left, hurrying as quickly as his long legs would permit back to Baker Street.

When he entered the building, it was immediately obvious John had gone out. Sherlock didn't like the knot in his stomach that formed when he imagined John being with that woman. He pounded up the stairs, and bounced into the flat, throwing himself onto the sofa straight away.

Now to wait for John's return. And in the mean time, he could think of a plan for operation split up.

It was only fifteen or so minutes later that John's footsteps began to slowly mount the stairs. He sounded tired, and despondent. Sherlock felt a flash of worry that he had been the cause of John's sadness, but when John entered the room, and spied him on the sofa, his face momentarily brightened.

Then fell again. He went silently into the kitchen, and Sherlock heard him pull out two mugs, and tap his foot nervously while he waited for the water to boil.

Finally he reappeared with two cups of tea, and handed one to Sherlock. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sherlock examining John closely. He'd been with Mycroft. That much was clear.

But had his foul brother said? Said that made John look so upset.

"What happened?" he asked finally, his voice sounding far more tender than he intended.

"Mycroft." said John shortly, abruptly standing.

Sherlock frowned, feeling hurt bite at his heart. Did John not want to talk to him? What had that bastard said?

"John? I'm sorry for storming out. I don't mind much." said Sherlock.  _I mind a lot._  He silently added.

John seemed to make a effort.

"Sherlock. I really can't talk to you at the moment." he said, breath coming in rough spurts.

Sherlock frowned at him.

"Wha-"

ohn turned on his heel, and strode out of the room, managing not to spill any tea as he went. Sherlock stared at the doorway, a frown of confusion playing on his features. All he could think was _what did I do?_ And then. _Mycroft! What did the bastard say?_

**OoOoOo**

Mycroft certainly wasn't the master of hiding. So it took Sherlock less than half an hour to make his way to the man's retreat. That ridiculous club of his which him want to sing at the top of his lungs, just to give all the old fogies in there a heart attack. So when he finally got through to Mycroft's room, he was quietly satisfied to see a slight look of surprise shoot across his brother's face.

"Mycroft! What have you done?" he demanded, bunching his fists up.

Mycroft took a few seconds to pull himself together, but he finally did, setting down his newspaper and sighing.

"I did it to help you."

"Well it certainly didn't! Can't you keep your nose out my personal business?" Sherlock snarled, throwing himself into a chair.

Mycroft shot him a annoyed look.

"So you wish for John to marry?"

"Wha- Mycroft. What did you say?" Sherlock snapped.

"I merely told him that if he left you, I would have remove his fiancée." said Mycroft calmly rubbing his hands together.  
Sherlock silently seethed, glaring at his brother.

"I can fix this situation myself. Do not interfere again." he said coldly.

Mycroft eyed him languidly.

"Very well, little brother. I did you a favour, but choose the hard route because of your pride." he said, picking the newspaper up again and pretended to read.

Sherlock got up slowly, and moved to the door. Yes, Mycroft's way was easier. But he didn't want to hurt John, or more accurately, do anything Mycroft suggested.

"But a warning, my dear brother. No good will come from following any other path." said Mycroft coolly from his seat  
Sherlock stormed through the door, slamming it shut behind him.


	3. Chapter Three

John felt bad as soon as he snapped at Sherlock. He looked so momentarily confused that John almost apologised. But he didn't. Because in a way he blamed Sherlock for everything. So he just left before he could take his anger out on Sherlock when he should be blaming Mycroft.

It was barely five minutes later that he heard Sherlock call something about going out, and the door slam. Leaving him in peace. Despite the silence, so rare in the flat, being golden, it only meant there was nothing to distract himself from his awful decision.

But there wasn't really a choice. There never had been. He couldn't be the cause of the women he loved's death. One day of happiness. And now, he would doomed to a life with Sherlock.

Not doomed. He told himself. Because that sounded like he didn't want to be with Sherlock. Of course he did. He was his best friend. But... The fact he'd never have a women in his life. Somebody to kiss, someone to hug. To buy a house with, and own a pet.

Sherlock absolutely wouldn't give any of those things. And however much he enjoyed being with the detective, it wasn't the same. Never would be.

And he didn't regret for one second ever taking up Sherlock's offer so long ago. Because he would be worse than dead by then. Sherlock had raised him from hell, and showed him light. He would never have gotten engaged to Juliet without Sherlock.

He heaved a huge sigh, and allowed two tears to leek from his eyes. But no more, because there was no point crying. It was over. He pulled out his phone and slowly, mournfully, dialled Juliet's number.

_"John? Is that you darling?"_ she asked, sending a jolt to his heart.

"Yeah. It's me. We need to talk. Can I come round?" he asked slowly.

_"Of course. See you in ten?"_

"Yeah."

John hung up, and wiped the tears away, then he got up a retrieved his coat.  
\---

He rang Juliet's bell ten minutes later, feeling very, very nervous and sad. He just couldn't seem to see anything bright in the world, and couldn't see himself doing so for a long time.

"John? What's wrong?" asked Juliet, hugging him as soon as she saw his face.

He didn't return the hug, feeling it would make things worse to do so.

"Juliet. We need to talk." he said.

Juliet pulled away, and stared worriedly into his face, smoothing his cheek with her thumb.

"Okay. Do you want a cup of tea?"

"No. I want to get this over with."

They stepped into the house, and Juliet led him to the familiar sitting room, with the sofa they'd spent so long cuddling on together watching rubbish TV.

Juliet sat down and pulled him down beside her.

"Tell me." she whispered.

John closed his eyes and swallowed.

"It's about Sherlock." he said slowly.

Immediately Juliet tensed, and he opened his eyes to see her face had gone from tender to jealous.

"What about him?" she snapped.

John sighed.

"He's got a brother, called Mycroft. Today... He..." John slowed, heaving a breath to try and stop his voice from choking.

"What?" asked Juliet, apparently thinking all danger to herself was gone.

"He said that if I married you, he'd have to kill you." said John, knowing that Juliet wouldn't believe him.

"W-what? Why? Is he a-an ex boyfriend?" she asked nervously, but not as terrified as she would be if she knew Mycroft.

"No. Because he thinks that S-Sherlock will... Loose it if I go." said John.

Juliet gave an uneasy laugh.

"But... That's none of your business. He's only a friend, and a bit of a weird one. Surely you can just cut him out?"

John dug his nails into the skin of his palm. He pushed his initial thought of how dare she insult Sherlock away, and swallowed again.

"No. You don't understand. He will kill you if I leave Sherlock." said John slowly.

"He's only a man. He can't do anything darling. Stop being silly." said Juliet, trying to kiss him.

John pulled away.

"You're wrong. He's the British government. I assure you he will kill you if I marry you. I can't be responsible for your death." he said, his resolve now hardening.

Mycroft would kill her. And it would be his fault. The only way out was to stay with Sherlock. No matter how hurt Juliet was, she would get her life back together and she wouldn't be dead.

"John! Please... You can't believe this." Juliet pleaded.

"I do. I'm sorry Juliet. I can't marry you." John whispered.

Juliet stared at him for several long moments, blinking away tears. Then she slapped him hard on the cheek.

"I've never heard such a load of bullshit!" she screamed, tears suddenly falling down her cheeks.

"W-what?" John demanded, nursing his throbbing cheek.

"You sick bastard! I know why you're splitting up with me. It's that bloody psycho! You're with him, and you didn't know how to get rid of me!" she sobbed.

"No! I swear. Sherlo-"

Juliet cut him off by slapping him again, with a lot more force.

"Get out of here! I never want to see you again!" she screeched.

John did as she asked, leaving her to cry hysterically into a cushion. He slowly made his way back to the flat, feeling like his life had been dashed. But at least he still had Sherlock. A constant in his life. A rock, however volatile. They anchored each other.

And he wouldn't blame Sherlock for this. He couldn't. It wasn't his fault. But he would have to stay out of the detectives way for a while, just in case he snapped something hurtful.

But however, just as he was opened the flat door, Sherlock came up behind him. He tried not to spin round and scream at the detective.

"John?" he questioned.

John didn't turn round.

"John. I made Mycroft promise not to hurt that women." said Sherlock as he was mounting the stairs.

John froze. Mycroft had promised not to...

"Oh god no." he moaned, thinking he might be sick.

"Was that not what you wanted." asked Sherlock, and John didn't miss the hope in his voice.

He slowly turned to face Sherlock. The detective took one look at him, and his lips parted slightly in understanding.

"I'm sorry." was all he said.

And then he pulled the shaking doctor upstairs, offering no comfort except for a cup of tea, before returning to his experiment.

John felt almost upset that Sherlock had not enfolded him in his long arms, and rubbed circles into his back. Which of course was totally ridiculous, ludicrous and crazy. Sherlock Holmes never, ever did anything like that.

But he was aware that Sherlock's intense gaze kept flitting over to him, every time he moved, or made a sound. An attention he didn't generally receive while Sherlock was busy.

And it made him feel special.

So he vaguely watched the detective, feeling grateful he had a friend in dark times such as these.

Sadly it didn't seem that Sherlock went as far as to make dinner, so John was forced to get up from his cocoon of warmth, and heat up a pot of noodles. Once he had gone through the normal procedure of asking Sherlock if he wanted anything, and getting the customary answer of 'no', he wolfed them down, before curling back into a ball of self pity, and slowly drifting asleep.  
\---  
He woke up in his own bed, wrapped up in a blanket. His fuzzy brain was silently glad Sherlock hadn't felt the need to undress him. He lay for a few moments, the dull ache of sadness returning.

But it probably wasn't as bitter as it should.

He tried not to think about that, and staggered out of bed.

Half an hour later, he was showered and dressed, and went downstairs to face Sherlock. He was still bent over his experiment, curly black hair hiding his face from view. John watched him for a moment, before going into the kitchen and trying to find a box of corn flakes that hadn't been infested by maggots, kindly introduced by Sherlock.

"Sleep well?" asked Sherlock softly from the living room.

"Yeah, okay." said John uncomfortably.

"You're surprisingly heavy." Sherlock commented, before returning to his pile of toe nails.

John didn't reply, pouring himself a bowl, and eating in silence. In fact, most of the morning passed in silence, Sherlock experimenting on the toe nails, and John thinking about cleaning up, but lying on the sofa instead. It was right after a small lunch that Sherlock set down his knife.

"I'm going to the yard. Fancy coming?" he asked.

John nodded numbly. Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf, and they walked down onto the street, Sherlock hailing a taxi.

As usual, the ride was taken in silence, Sherlock doing something on his phone, and John staring out the window and fogging the glass. There was no point moping any longer. Even if he asked Juliet to come back, she wouldn't. So he would get over her, and start again with a new girl.

He definitely didn't think Juliet had been his soul mate. So maybe, there was hope he could find a somebody else. He resolved to go out that very evening.

They arrived at the yard, Sherlock bounding out, and as usual leaving John to pay. He followed the detective up to Lestrade's office. Sally was standing guard outside his door, and snorted when she saw Sherlock.

"Oh. Hello freak. Not in your dressing gown this time?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow easily. John felt slightly confused. Sherlock had come here in his fit on anger?

"Disappointed?"

Sally looked briefly horrified.

"No," she then looked over to John. "Made up with your boyfriend?"

John gave a slightly strangled gasp, while Sherlock huffed impatiently.

"The issue was resolved, if that's what you mean Donovan. I had thought eavesdropping was below you, but you continue to prove me wrong," he sniffed.

Thankfully for everybody, Lestrade chose this moment to come out of his office, smiling slightly at John.

"Hello you two. Here for a case?"

"Obviously." snorted Sherlock.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, and ushered them into his room. Sally followed them, leaning on the door and watching the group.

"I heard you got yourself engaged." Lestrade commented, while Sherlock rifled through the papers.

John saw him pause.

"Uh, yes... But we split up yesterday." said John quietly, and Sherlock continued to go through the papers.

"Oh. I am sorry John." said Lestrade.

John shrugged. He didn't need Lestrade reminding him of his ex fiancée. Sally gave a hoot from the doorway.

"So that's why you were here yesterday freak!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Everybody turned to her, John knowing he probably shouldn't be listening, but doing so anyway. Sherlock didn't look particularly upset anyway.

"Upset your pet was going of with somebody else?" she sneered.

Sherlock closed his eyes as if restraining himself.

"Or were you jealous that your boyfriend had found somebody normal?" she continued.

"Sally. Enough." snapped Lestrade.

Sargent Donovan shrugged, shooting Sherlock a look of pure venom. John glanced at Sherlock himself, but his face was calm.

The rest of the trip passed normally, and soon they were back at the flat, Sherlock holding a huge bundle of papers.

"Look, Sherlock. I'm going out tonight, so ask Mrs. Hudson for something to eat." said John.

Sherlock visibly stiffened.

"Where?" he asked, a sharp tinge to his voice.

John watched him closely, but his posture had relaxed slightly, and he hadn't turned to face him.

"Pub." he said, noting Sherlock's slight flinch, before he sat himself down in front of the case files.

"Fine then." he said indifferently, leaving John to wonder if he'd imagined Sherlock strange reaction.


End file.
